The link below will take you to a Spotlight Interview on the Annie’s Book Stop Web site. The interview, which features questions about the writing of The North End and about my writing life, is in anticipation of the reading and signing of the book that will take place at the store at 65 James St., Worcester, MA, on April 2, 2017, from 2-4 p.m.
I look forward to seeing you at the reading.
The calendar says the eighth of March.
The porcupine says, good night.
What dreams does he dream, this porcupine
asleep in the woodshed of my writing house
on this rainy morning in early March?
Does he dream of the first green shoots
of spring he dined on only last week
before cold descended again like the fist
of Odin, freezing streams and ponds
in a single night, and reclaiming seasonal
sovereignty, until this rain broke through
like a Viking horde?
On Sunday, April 2, 2017, from 2-4 p.m., I will be reading from my first published collection of poems, The North End, at Annie’s Book Stop in Worcester, MA. There will be a Q. and A. in addition to the reading, and books will be available for purchase and signing.
The store is located at 65 James Street. For information, call the store at 508-796-5613.
The north wind turns its pockets
inside out and rain becomes snow,
blown with hurricane force, flung
hurly-burly against the pane
and unwinding over the fields
in a full-throated howl. I hear
the chuckle of March, like Lucy
with her football. She’s fooled
Charlie Brown once again.
With a sudden rush of slush
off the roof
the mind comes fully awake
and the body alive with surprise.
The temperature at 35
and the coming storm delayed
made room for nature to shovel
yesterday’s snow. As with a good
sneeze, the system is shaken
as I am shaking now.
Today, February 11, 2017, is the 50th anniversary of the death of A. J. Muste, a Christian radical, who believed in making peace, not war.
According to Robert Ellsberg in his prize-winning book All Saints, “In the era of bomb shelters and civil defense drills, it seemed to Muste that the world was entering a new Dark Age in which the responsibility of the Christian was to nourish small oases of sanity and conscience amid the encircling gloom.
“When asked by a reporter what good it did for him to maintain a vigil outside a nuclear weapons base, Muste replied, ‘I don’t do this to change the world. I do it to keep the world
from changing me.'”
In keeping with the recent Women’s March: one small step for each woman, one giant step for humankind. This poem has some age on it, but it is pertinent.
Monday is diapers, baking, cleaning
house, moments snatched from elastic time
where I stand at the lift-top desk during Sesame Street.
Bent with urgency over the board
unable to wait for inspiration
I write the hurried thought.
In the calm remove of summer
I gather the scraps out of the desk
and build what poems I can.
John Lennon said,
Don’t leave a lyric unfinished.
You won’t recall the original feeling.
Imagine being a woman, John, making do
with time at hand. Then come talk to me
and maybe I’ll listen.